31 Favors by Michael Olsen

The scene begins in Daves’ 32 Flavors ice cream parlor. A young man, Frank, is standing behind the counter, eagerly awaiting the next customer. In walks Lenny, an average looking man in his late twenties.

FRANK: Hi, and welcome to Dave’s 32 flavors. This months flavor of the month is Hot Ass.

LENNY: Excuse me? What did you say the flavor was?

FRANK: Hot Ass. It’s made from the perfect combination of natural flavors designed to taste just like hot ass on a cold night.

LENNY: Hot Ass?

FRANK: Hot Ass! Would you like a sample spoon?

LENNY: What the hell?

(FRANK scoops up a sample spoon and hands it to LENNY. Reluctantly, he takes a bite.)

LENNY: Mmmmmmm. Man, that tastes just like Hot Ass!

FRANK: On a cold night. And theres’ nothing like Hot Ass on a cold night. Whould you like to buy a scoop?

LENNY: Hell yeah!

(FRANK scoops him up a full scoop into a bowl and hands it to LENNY.)

FRANK: That’ll be twenty-nine ninety five.

LENNY: For a scoop of ice cream?

FRANK: Well, how much was the last hot ass you paid for?

LENNY: You have a point.

FRANK: Would you like a spoon?

LENNY: (After a thought) No.

FRANK: Good man.

(LENNY proceeds to lick the Hot Ass. First with a gentle licking, then taking a daring bite. After a while he begins to moan in ecstacy.)

LENNY: This is so good. My God!

FRANK: I know. Would you like to get a gallon to take home?

LENNY: Oh yeah, that would be great!

(FRANK goes to the back to get a gallon and comes right back.)

FRANK: That’ll be three hundred and forty-nine dollars and twenty-two cents.

(LENNY gives him his credit card and FRANK rings him up.)

FRANK: You know, if you like Hot Ass, maybe you’d like to try some of our other flavors.

LENNY: If they’re anything like this, yeah!

(FRANK leans over, gets another sample and hands it to LENNY who takes a bite. His mouth puckers up. He doesn’t like the taste.)

LENNY: Oh, man, it’s salty. What the hell is that?

FRANK: We like to call that one Big Sweaty Dick.

(LENNY promptly spits out his mouthful of Big Sweaty Dick.)

FRANK: Yeah, nobody’s really ambivalent about that one. It’s pretty much spit or swallow.

LENNY: That’s disgusting. Uhhh.

(While LENNY tries to wipe his tongue with a napkin, another man walks in.)

FRANK: Sorry about that sir. (To other man.) What will it be?

MAN: I’d like a triple scoop. The first scoop Hot Ass, second scoop, Big Sweaty Dick, and another scoop of Hot Ass on top of that.

FRANK: So, you want your Big Sweaty Dick between two scoops of Hot Ass?

MAN: Awwwwwwwe yeah!

FRANK: Coming right up.

(LENNY looks panicked and looks up from his cup of ice cream.)

LENNY: My God! Is this…man ass?

FRANK: Excuse me?

LENNY: This Hot Ass. It’s a mans’ hot ass, isn’t it?

FRANK: Well we don’t like to force gender roles on our ice cream sir.

LENNY: Awe bullshit! Hot the hell can you have gender neutral Big Sweaty Dick?

FRANK: I think you’re making it to something it’s not sir.

LENNY: Are you telling me I ate a womans’ big sweaty dick?

FRANK: Well, not exactly…

LENNY: Then say it, for Christs’ sake! This is a gay ice cream parlor!

FRANK: (Reluctantly) This is a gay ice cream parlor. I’m sorry if you were mislead. I’ll put your ice cream back?

LENNY: Well, that’s going a little far.

FRANK: But it’s a mans’ Hot Ass. And you’re straight.

LENNY: Oh, look who’s forcing gender roles now.

FRANK: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…

LENNY: You think because I’m straight I can’t like the taste of a mans’ hot ass? (To other man.) What about you? Are you gay?

MAN: (Who has been standing there watching the two talk with an unchanging happy grim on his face.) Shit yeah!

LENNY: Well, you don’t have to be, dammit! I’d like to think that as an American, gay or straight, I can walk into an ice cream parlor and order a gallon of hot man ass without people questioning my sexuality.

MAN: Right on! (Raises fist in emphasis.)

LENNY: Even if I were to walk out of here with three gallons of Big Sweaty Dick under my arm, I would turn to those with the gall to make assumptions about me, look them in the eye and say ‘You don’t know me! You don’t know me!’"

MAN: Hell yeah!

FRANK: So, do you want the Big Sweaty Dick?

LENNY: Yes sir. Gimme all the Big Sweaty Dick you got!


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Automotive Jesus by Melissa Gordon and Matlock Zumsteg

(Scene opens on the interior of a mechanics’ shop. Two mechanics are standing around talking. A greasy mechanic walks in, looking very similar to Jesus, wearing cheap aviator sunglasses and coveralls with the name STAN embroidered on it. He walks majestically across the shop over to the other mechanics. The men look up as he approaches.)

GEORGE: You must be the new guy. (Shakes hands.) My names George, this here’s Nancy. (The other guy nods.) What was your name again? (He squints at his nametag.)

JESUS: I am the Savior Jesus Christ.

GEORGE: Uh, but it looks like your name is "Stan." Says so right on them coveralls you’re wearin’.

JESUS: Blessed art thou, my child. (Takes a drag of his smoke.)

GEORGE: What’d you think, Nancy? (NANCY shrugs.) Well, buddy, I’d say you were a few quarts low, if ya know what I mean. (He elbows NANCY, who laughs stupidly.) What’d you say there "Jesus!" (He laughs until he coughs really hard, then daintily places his hand on his chest to steady himself.)

JESUS: Oh, ye of little faith…(He flicks his cigarette and folds his arms.)

GEORGE: Well, if you’re Jesus Christ, then prove it. Let’s see ya do one of them miracles, like turn that motor oil into wine or somethin’. Hell, you could try givin’ Nancy here some smarts. (He laughs and elbows Nancy, who also laughs.)

NANCY: Yeah, I’m not too smart. (Laughing stupidly.)

JESUS: He that believes in me shall never…

GEORGE: Aww, do ya hafta talk like that?

JESUS:…thirst. (He finishes his sentence almost exasperatedly, then looks at the motor oil.) That oil is now my blood.


JESUS: (Condescendingly.) It’s wine.

NANCY: Oh. (Both men look at the oil. GEORGE nervously reaches for a bottle, sniffs it, then drinks it. He pulls it away in awe and looks at Jesus. At the same time NANCY grabs a bottle off a different shelf, rips it open and downs half of it. He pulls it away and happily confirms "It’s wine!" as motor oil drips down his chin. )

GEORGE: By me, it’s a miracle! (Both men stare at Jesus, then bow at his feet in worship as holy music starts to play.)

(Next is a scene of Jesus walking through the shop leading the two now devoted men. As he walks past them, all the other mechanics scoot out from under cars, put down their tools and follow Jesus outside. He gets his twelve new disciples to walk across the desert of the man in THE SANDLOT sketch, and one steps on LAWRENCE as they walk through. Then it cuts to JESUS’s dirty kitchen. In a re-enactment of the Last Supper, all the mechanics stand around a tiny table with a jar of KOOL-AID and a small chocolate pre-packaged cake treat.)

JESUS: Take this Razzleberry punch, it is my blood. Take and eat this Ho-Ho, it is my body. Tonight I am to rebuild my last carburator. (The disciples sigh with sadness. One of them was not paying attention and watching TV. )

JESUS: Simon, what do you say?

SIMON: Hey, look on the TV. That guy sorta looks like you, Stan, er, Jesus. (Cut to TV, which is playing a commercial for a different Jesus selling Newports.)

Commercial shows a thinner, cooler looking Jesus taking a drag off a cigarette, breathing it out satisfyingly, then giving the thumbs up. A voiceover says , "Jubliee Menthol Cigarettes. Christ likes them. Shouldn’t you?"

Segue into CHRIST AD sketch.

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Babysitter 3000 by Jeff Hollis

(Standard shot to shot cheap style infomercial with ANNOUNCER dubbed over.)

 (First shot of two stressed out parents on the couch in a living room while their kids throw toys at each other and scream.)

ANNOUNCER: Parents! Are you tired of not being able to go out because you’re stuck at home with those infectious little brats? (Parents onscreen nod to the camera exaggeratedly in unison.) Night after night, it’s the same thing: whining, bitching, moaning and headache to boot. You’ve tried hiring those high school neighbors to watch your spawn, but who knows how much those whorring little degenerates have stolen from you.

(Shot of teenage girl in letter jacket taking jewelry from a dresser drawer.)

ANNOUNCER: And what about those nannies from the service. (Show parents looking concerned.) I think we’ve all seen one too many shaken babies in our lifetimes.

(Show nanny shaking baby doll.)

ANNOUNCER: Well, parents, now your nightmares are over. (Show parents looking at the camera hopefully.) from the creators of the V-Chip, Teletubbies and Ritalin, The Cut Your Kid company is proud to present the Babysitter 3000. The Babysitter 3000 consists of a solid titanium collar with remote locator system.

(Show shot of a dog collar and a police scanner [or remote control?])

The collar is made from the melted down fillings of Richard Kiel,

(Show shot from Eegah.)

so you know the tight fitting around their necks is geniune and inescapable.

(Show two kids lying on floor with collars on, choking.)

The locator system, made from "borrowed technology" from NASA,

(Picture of MIR)

emits an almost non-traceable electronic pulse or shock (said in lowered voice) of a mere 60,000 volts anytime your trolls even think about misbehaving. (Show parents smiling interestedly.) That’s right, every time little Johnny(shot of bratty son sitting on the carpet in front of the parents, braking a toy) tries to take a cookie from the jar he’ll feel the gentle touch of the Babysitter 3000, stopping him dead in his tracks.

(Show boy twitching on the ground with a broken cookie jar next to him.)

No more worrying about little Suzie (show shot of little girl sitting in front of parents picking her nose.) terrorizing the pets, the Babysitter 3000 will put her ass in check.

(Show girl twitching on ground with dog attacking her.)

Junior trying to raid your secret porn stash (show boy sneaking into a closet) not even your wife could find? Ha, he can try, but we don’t think he’ll get that far.

(Show kid twitching on floor with porn mag in hand.)

And remember, NRA and Academy Award members, with the purchase of one or more Babysitter 3000 units, you’ll get your free "I’m an independent thinker" T-shirt.

(Show picture of shirt with those words on it and an American flag waving in background.)

That’s right, the Babysitter 3000

(Show picture of unit again.)

Every mom and dads’ irresponsible approach at raising their children, besides television.

(Show a TV.)


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Backwards People by Matlock Zumsteg

 (Wide shot opens on a long stretch of street in front of the Media Center. After a few moments, a man, GIL, walks into the shot backwards from the left, and soon after, another man, PHIL, walks backwards from the right. GIL is carrying a briefcase. PHIL has a messy, unfolded handkerchief loosely stuffed into his front breast pocket. As they pass each other they stop to shake hands.)

PHIL: Goodnight Gil.

GIL: See ya Phil.

PHIL: Oh, okay. Well, have a good night, enjoy the sprouts and peas!

GIL: No.

PHIL: Mmmmm. Can I come along?

GIL: She’s making Brussels sprouts and black-eyed peas.

PHIL: What’s she making?

GIL: My wife’s cooking dinner, I don’t want to miss out.

PHIL: Why’s that?

GIL: (Awkwardly) Well… I’ve gotta head out.

(Short beat)

PHIL: She still as hot as I remember her?

GIL: Oh, Linda’s’ fine. Just fine.

PHIL: How’s your wife doing these days?

GIL: I’ve gotta get a new one. Ten years now, and all I’ve got to show for it is a chronic headache and a bad case of the carpal tunnels. (He holds up his arm and flexes while grasping his forearm with his other hand.)

PHIL: It’s been a while Gil, how’s your job treating you?

GIL: It’s been making a real mess of the backyard. Every morning I get up and there’s another huge pile of odd-smelling crap for me to clean up.

PHIL: Really?

GIL: Yeah, It’s been getting indigestion because of this new food we’ve been giving it.

PHIL: You’d just brought it home when I last saw it.

GIL: It’s gotten pretty big.

PHIL: Well that’s understandable.

GIL: Nope, I just don’t feel comfortable looking at its private areas.

PHIL: Still haven’t figured out its sex yet?

GIL: Not quite sure.

PHIL: I forget, was it a boy or a girl?

GIL: It’s doing all right, It’s been spending most of its time tied up out back.

PHIL: So how’s your kid?

(Short beat)

GIL: Oh, this and that.

PHIL: (Pulls out his messy, unfolded handkerchief and hands it to GIL) You’re welcome. So what’ve you been up to?

GIL: Thank you. (Taking the handkerchief, wipes his brow and face, then wipes and blows his nose.)

(GIL quickly folds and hands back the handkerchief.)

PHIL: Oh, here, take this. (PHIL re-pockets the now neatly folded handkerchief. From here on out, GIL’s face get progressively wetter and wetter throughout the shots.)


PHIL: Thanks. Whew! (PHIL pulls a sandwich with a bite in it out of his breast pocket, unwraps it, looks at it, then just holds it.)

GIL: You should really learn to chew your food!

(PHIL randomly spits out a chunk of meat as GIL turns and walks backwards until he is behind PHIL. PHIL begins to choke violently and GIL proceeds to perform the Heimlich maneuver on PHIL. PHIL stops choking and begins to chew, as GIL walks backwards to his original position.)

GIL: Oh my God, Phil!

(PHIL shrugs and takes a bite of the sandwich.)

GIL: No thanks, not hungry.

PHIL: It’s pastrami on rye, you want a bite?

GIL: What’cha got there?

(PHIL wraps up the sandwich and puts it back into his breast pocket.)

PHIL: Gil! Fancy meeting you here!

GIL: (Labored) Hey! Long time no see!

PHIL: Hey! (Waves)

(GIL walks backwards, around the fence of the media center, and backwards towards the front door of the media center. [Insert my personalized cool shot])

(GIL bursts backwards into the media center, outraged, face drenched with water. He walks up to BILL, who is standing near the water cooler.)

GIL: (Angrilly) Good-Day Sir!

(BILL splashes water in GIL’s face.)

GIL: Has anyone ever told you that you are an asshole?

BILL: Has anyone ever told you that you look like an asshole?

GIL: Listen I just want to grab some water.

BILL: (Blocking GIL from cups.) What was that smartass?

GIL: (Under his breath) Well, that was uncalled for. (Goes to grab a cup.)

BILL: Mind if I give a crap.

GIL: Mind if I grab some water.

(GIL strolls backwards towards the front desk. A man, PETE, walks up to the front counter and adresses GIL with a blank uninterested stare.)

GIL: Oh… I see.

PETE: He’s been out with a broken neck for the past week. They just gave him last rights last night. Insensitive prick.

GIL: Hey, Is Hank around? I’m here to close things up on his life insurance papers. I haven’t been free to get in touch with him this week, but I just squoze some time into my hectic schedule. I figured he’d want to see me.

PETE: May I help you?

(Gil sets down his briefcase)

GIL: Hi. (Waves)

(GIL picks up his briefcase and walks out backwards. The door shuts and BILL is seen spitting a mouthfull of water into his cup, then reaching down to refill it.)


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